


W is for The Woman from Uberwald

by scarletmanuka



Series: V/V Alphabet Challenge [23]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gosh, the last part of the alphabet is hard! I don't think they'll come in order at all now!</p>
    </blockquote>





	W is for The Woman from Uberwald

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, the last part of the alphabet is hard! I don't think they'll come in order at all now!

“Good evening, sir,” Drumknott greeted Sam as he arrived in the waiting room. “He’s all finished for the day, so go right in.”

“Thank you, Rufus,” Sam said with a smile, crossing to the door.

“Oh! Before I forget, do you mind giving him this?” The blonde clerk handed over an envelope. “It’s a late clacks. Nothing important, just his daily message from Uberwald.”

“Of course,” he replied, taking the envelope.

“You two have a good night,” Drumknott told him.

Sam smiled again, and opened the door. It still felt odd, knowing that Drumknott knew about their arrangement, but he had to agree that it made it much easier not having to sneak around the secretary. Drumknott was the keeper of the calendar, and it wouldn’t have taken him long to make some accurate deductions. Still, Sam had been a little concerned that it was one of the stipulations of the arrangement. He knew Havelock trusted the clerk, and he knew himself that the man was trustworthy, but that didn't mean that Sam _trusted_ him. Not right away, anyway.

Havelock was seated in one of the armchairs by the fire, a report in his hand and a frown on his face. Sam closed the door, locking it out of habit, and crossed to the chairs. He bent to brush a kiss to his lover’s hair, and sat down in the chair opposite. “How are you, love?”

Havelock looked up, a distracted air about him. “Oh, so so.”

“Bad day?” There was a grunt, and no reply. Must have been bad, Sam thought to himself. The Patrician was too cultured a man to _grunt_. “Did you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Havelock responded, his eyes back on the report.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, Sam, unfortunately not.”

Drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, Sam gave Havelock a steady look. The man was clearly frustrated, and wasn’t going to open up any time soon. He debated just going home, but they got such little time together as it was that he discarded that idea. If his lover needed time for his thoughts, then Sam could give him that without going anywhere. He went to the bookcase and chose one at random, then settled himself down to read.

They sat in silence for another half an hour. Sam kept throwing looks at the other man, unable to concentrate on the book. It was about tax law so he doubted if he’d be able to digest it on a good day anyway. Havelock’s expression didn't change as he read his way through a pile of reports, the frown remaining in place.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Sam said, pulling the envelope from his pocket. “A clacks came for you.”

Havelock looked up and smiled for the first time that evening as he took the envelope. He pulled out the message and scanned his eyes over it, chuckling at whatever it said. He then stood and moved across to his Thud board, moving a dwarf according to the instructions. Placing his hands behind his back, he studied the pieces, humming to himself. A few minutes later he made a triumphant sound, then moved a troll and returned to his chair. He pulled forward a piece of paper and a quill and wrote a rather lengthy note, and then folded it away into an envelope. Once done, he picked back up the discarded reports and started to read again, this time with a small smile on his face.

Sam watched quietly, a queasy feeling in his stomach. He fought the urge to snatch up the clacks and read whatever Margolotta had written that had made his lover laugh, when he hadn’t even managed to make him smile. Considering the foul mood was suddenly gone, it must have been oh so hilarious. Probably some private joke about how best to manipulate your way to power through the cunning use of bat embroidered cardigans.

Forcing his eyes back to the page, Sam tried to concentrate on the book, but he kept getting distracted. Thoughts of the dark haired vampire kept crossing his mind, and he wondered just what exactly had happened during Havelock’s Grand Sneer. They were obviously very fond of each other, and Sam knew that they had influenced each other continuously over the last thirty years. But was it more? Although soft and motherly looking, Margolotta was still a beauty, and the power she held would have been intoxicating to the young assassin. He could never imagine Havelock as being young and bumbling - would she have been attracted to the young man who was old beyond his years? Did they share more than ideas, but a bed as well? Did Havelock bear his throat to her and give her more than one bodily fluid?

“Whatever are you reading?” Havelock’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’re scowling at the page like it’s mortally offended you.”

Sam tossed the book onto the coffee table and stood abruptly. “I think I’ll go.” He crossed to the door, but was stopped before he could open it by a hand on his wrist. He hadn’t even heard Havelock move - the man was a ghost.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

He turned and glared at his lover. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “I’m sorry if I was withdrawn - I had a horrible day and I didn’t want to burden you with it.”

“You seem to have gotten over it quickly enough.” He hated how whiny he sounded but he found he couldn’t control it.

“What do you mean?”

“All it took was a letter from your _girlfriend_.”

Havelock’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you talking about _Margolotta_?”

“Unless there’s another dangerously attractive woman you’re exchanging letters with, then yes.”

The assassin’s face softened and he laced their fingers together “Come and sit down so we can talk about this.”

Sam allowed himself to be led back to the armchairs, but he couldn’t keep the pout from his lips.

“Where on the Disc did this come from?” Havelock asked. He didn’t sit in his own chair but knelt in front of Sam, keeping their fingers clasped. “Why are you suddenly jealous of my friendship with her?”

“Is that all it is? Or is there more?”

An eyebrow lifted into a delicate arch above a piercing blue eye. “What more do you think there is? Do you imagine I sleep with her when we see each other? That we spend our nights making sweet, passionate love? Do you think that we share our greatest fears and desires? You think that I love her with all my heart?”

The queasy feeling returned in force as Sam did indeed picture all of those things. “Well, do you?” he choked out.

“I do none of those things,” Havelock stated quietly. “We’ve been honest with each other from the start, so if I did, you would know about them.” His eyes hardened just a little. “I would like to point out though, Sam, that you actually _do_ do all of those things. With your wife. And I don't accuse you of loving me any less. ”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. After a moment he grumbled, “That’s different.”

“How? Because she knows about us and has given us her blessing? Or because your relationship with Sybil is a real thing, unlike this fantastical thing you’ve imagined between Margolotta and myself?”

Sam struggled with his thoughts, trying to order them so he could voice his concerns without sounding more like a prat than he already had. “You like her…” he finally said, rather lamely.

Havelock rolled his eyes. “Of course I _like_ her. We’ve been friends for many years. Other than Sybil, she’s been the only friend I’ve had before you.”

“But, well, maybe she can give you what I can’t?” His eyes were downcast and he mumbled the words into his chest.

A finger rested under his chin and drew his face up so their eyes met. “And what do you possibly think she can give me that you can’t? She can’t make me happy, because you already do that. She can’t make me laugh, because you already do that. She can’t keep me safe, because you already do that. She can’t make me feel loved, and cherished, because you already do that. She can’t replace you, Sam, because you are my whole world.”

“But you have to share me,” he whispered, brokenly.

“Is that what this is _really_ about?” Havelock lay a hand on his cheek. “You don’t think you deserve to be happy, and now you have two people who love you, and want you, and you think that it’s the universe playing some big joke on you and any moment you might lose it all?” A tear trickled down Sam’s cheek, and Havelock wiped it away with his thumb. “You silly, silly, man, Samuel Vimes. You’re not going to lose me. And I _like_ sharing you with Sybil. You have no idea how happy it makes me to see you happy, and she makes you happy. And I know that I make you happy too.” He pressed their lips together. “Are you feeling a little better now?”

Sam nodded, a blush colouring his cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“I forgive you. How about we go to bed?”

He nodded and allowed his lover to lead him to his room, where all thoughts of pink jumpers and bats were banished from his mind. And later, as Sam lay with Havelock curled against him, he allowed a small feeling of hope to flicker inside him. Maybe he _did_ deserve to be happy afterall.

 


End file.
